


Love at Second Sight

by mdr_24601



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: 70th Hunger Games, District 4 (Hunger Games), F/M, POV Finnick Odair, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdr_24601/pseuds/mdr_24601
Summary: How Annie crept up on Finnick.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Kudos: 14





	Love at Second Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from The Gambler by fun. Go listen to it, it's such a good Odesta song. :)

In hindsight, Finnick really should have known better. 

And usually, he did know better. He was so careful with everything he did, especially on camera, because he had to be. Because people paid for it if he wasn’t. But he saw Annie Cresta walk up to the reaping stage, shaky but determined, trembling like a leaf. Before he realized what was happening, they were on the train discussing strategy, and Finnick said he would mentor Annie. 

Mags had given him an odd look, but allowed him to proceed. Finnick couldn’t even quite articulate why he was doing it. The male tribute, Caspian, had much better odds than Annie did. Mentoring her would just be setting himself up to fail. 

Maybe it was because he knew Annie. Well, he didn’t _know_ her, not really. But he’d seen her the market since they were kids, little Annie Cresta with her nets for sale and her ever-present smile, despite everything. 

He’d asked her about it once, when they were maybe ten. “Why are you always smiling?” he’d said, his hands naturally reaching over to help her untangle one of her nets, which had tangled in the wind. 

She shrugged, dark hair blowing in her face. “There’s always a reason to smile.”

Annie wasn’t smiling now. 

She sat on the plush couch of the train, rigid, her lips pulled into a frown. All things considered, she looked okay for a girl who’d just received her death sentence. 

“Do you have any skills I should know about?” he asked softly, to which Annie startled. 

“No,” she replied shortly. 

Finnick leaned back with a sigh. “I don’t believe that.”

Annie disregarded his comment, narrowing her eyes a little. “Why did you decide to mentor me? I’m going to die.”

She said it with such a finality, like her fate had been sealed already. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps she’d even get lucky and die a quick, painless death in the arena, never having to worry about anything again. Something stirred in him at the thought of her death, something uncomfortable, so Finnick scrapped the thought entirely. 

“Everyone has a chance,” he settled on after an awkward stretch of silence. 

“Not everyone has an equal chance,” Annie countered. “Like the kids in the outer districts. Their odds aren’t the same as One or Two’s tributes.”

Finnick paused. Here she was, about to be placed in a televised fight to the death, and she was thinking of other people. Of the unfortunate children from Panem’s lowest districts. “I suppose that’s true. So, where does that put you?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking the questions?” she asked, an amused smile tugging at her lips. Still, she answered. “I don’t know. Somewhere in the middle. I’m average.”

He couldn’t tell why he said it, but the words spilled out of him recklessly. “Annie Cresta, you are far from average.”

Her expression had been doubtful at the time, but Annie proved herself over the next week of training. She was smart, smarter than even she realized. Her strategic skills were unmatched by anyone else in the Career Pack, who had readily accepted both her and Caspian. Annie could hold her breath longer than anyone else Finnick knew, which brought back memories of his childhood, and the competitions every District Four child had participated in to see who could stay underwater the longest. Annie nearly always won. 

He watched her stumble through her interview with Caesar Flickerman, her silky blue dress pooling around her feet like water, the perfect image of a District Four tribute. The Capitol seemed charmed by her eccentricity, which Finnick was grateful for. 

Anything to keep his tributes alive. 

(Anything to keep _her_ alive.)

“You should eat,” Finnick told her as they sat at the table on the morning of arena day. “You’ll need the extra calories.”

“I know,” Annie replied distractedly, shuffling the food around on her plate. Finnick knew what she was doing. Turning every possible outcome over in her mind, examining every detail. Taking note of every possibility until reality was a tangled net of present and future. 

“Hey,” he said, and her head snapped up at the urgency in his voice. “Mags and I will be with you every step of the way. We’ll catch you if you fall.”

She smiled weakly. “You can’t control everything.”

“I can try.” The intensity of his voice unsettled him, so he quickly lightened the mood. “Besides, who am I supposed to untangle nets with if you don’t win?”

Her eyes widened. “I thought you forgot about that.”

“Forget about you?” Finnick asked, smiling softly. “I could never.”

This, at least, got Annie to smile a little more. She still looked a little green, like she’d just stepped off a rocking boat, but her spirits were lifted a little. She even ate the rest of the food on her plate. 

Before he knew it, he was watching the Games countdown with the other mentors. Sweat gathered on his palms and he could hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Vaguely, Finnick chastised himself for getting so attached. That was going to make it extra difficult when she died. 

Annie was wonderful, sure. But she wasn’t what the Capitol was looking for. She wasn’t obviously pretty or particularly charming. She was just one face in a sea of twenty-three others to them. A number. A statistic. The Capitol would sooner root for Districts One or Two before they rooted for Annie Cresta. Even Caspian, eighteen and trained, had better odds than Annie could have hoped for. 

Still, despite everything, Annie pulled through, again and again. Just when Finnick thought it would be the end, that she couldn’t possibly make it anymore, she would stagger to her feet. Maybe it was just innate survival instinct, or maybe Annie had her own reasons for wanting to live. Whatever it was, it worked. 

Finnick really thought it was over when Annie watched Caspian’s head detach from his body and roll over to her feet. She had screamed, like something vital had splintered in her mind, but she still had the sense to run in the other direction and curl up in a cave, far away from the Careers who were now out for her blood. “It’s the final five now,” he told Mags, eyes never leaving the screen. “She has to make it.”

“She can,” Mags responded, concerned eyes flitting towards him. “She’s a smart girl.”

None of that mattered in the end, though. It all came down to a fortunate accident. The dam in the arena broke, sending crashing waves through the forest, completely covering the field and everyone on it. The water plucked bodies from the ground and dragged them somewhere else, and only one person in that entire arena knew what to do about it. 

Or maybe it wasn’t knowledge. Annie hadn’t been the same since Caspian’s death, anyway. Maybe it was just her instinct that kept her alive for so long. She clung on to a piece of driftwood and swam and swam and swam until she was all that was left. 

“She’s coming home,” Finnick breathed as the victory trumpets sounded. He felt the prick of tears in his eyes but hastily wiped them away. “She won.”

But nobody ever really won the Games, and victors knew that better than anyone. 

* * *

The next few days after they pulled Annie out of the arena passed at an excruciatingly slow pace. The doctors wouldn’t let Finnick or Mags see her, declaring that she was “too unstable” and wasn’t accepting visitors. Still, the Capitol was beginning to get impatient. They wanted to see their newest victor. 

Well, they wanted to see the polished and infallible version of Annie, but to the Capitol, that was basically the same thing. 

When he was finally allowed to see her, he nearly jumped out of his seat to make it to her hospital room. Annie sat up on the bed, tangled dark hair falling down her shoulders. Dark circles lined her eyes, and she had her shoulders hunched in like she was trying to protect herself. 

One of the doctors pulled him aside. “She won’t let us touch her. But she needs to be ready for her interview as soon as possible, and her prep team needs to style her.”

Finnick put on his best smile. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” The doctor seemed satisfied at that, and stepped aside so Finnick could approach Annie’s hospital bed. “Hey,” he said softly, fighting the urge to reach for her hand, which was tightly clenched around her blanket. 

“Finnick?” Annie asked, as if just realizing he was there. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

He flinched a little at that. “They wouldn’t let me in earlier, but I’m here now. How are you feeling?”

She shrugged mildly, her hospital gown slipping off her shoulder. “Cold.”

“Want some more blankets?”

“Not that kind of cold.”

Finnick nodded, understanding. Everyone reacted differently to the arena, but if there was one thing all victors understood, it was the chilling sensation of realizing that you were alive because twenty-three other children were dead. It didn’t help that Annie also had hypothermia from being in the cold water for so long. “You know, the sun back home might help with the cold.”

“Really?” Annie asked, glancing up at him. “You think it might?”

“It helped me,” he responded. “And the ocean. The shells that wash up on the shore sometimes. What’s your favorite kind?”

A long pause stretched by, and for a moment, Finnick thought that Annie hadn’t heard him. But she spoke up, voice more certain than he’d heard her since her victory. “Conch shells.”

“Those are nice,” he agreed with a smile. “I bet you’re looking forward to seeing some. But we need to get you home first.”

“They want me to do an interview,” Annie said. Her eyes flitted warily across the room, and she shifted uncomfortably in her bed. “I don’t want to.”

Finnick frowned. “I know. But you only need to do one more thing before you can go home. It’s almost over.”

“It’s not,” Annie muttered, distressed. “It’s not over. It won’t ever be over.” Her eyes watered, and she looked at him with more clarity than he’d seen from her yet. “I’ll carry this with me for the rest of my life.”

Something in him broke at those words, at seeing Annie in pain. “You’re right,” he said eventually, voice solemn. “It won’t ever be over. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t have a good life, Annie.”

“What about you? Do you have a good life?” she challenged. He hesitated, because what could he tell her? That the rest of her life was going to be dominated by the Capitol? That she would never be free again? His silence was all the answer she needed. “I don’t want to do the interview,” Annie said again. “They think I’m mad.”

“We’re all mad,” Finnick answered easily. “It’s just a question of whether you can hide it or not.”

“Or whether you want to,” Annie whispered, barely audible. They locked eyes and a moment of understanding passed between them. Finnick felt a twinge of worry for the decision she would be making, concerned about if she would get in trouble for it.

At this point, though, the less the Capitol had to see Annie Cresta, the better. On both sides. 

So when Annie stepped up on Caesar’s stage for her interview, sea-foam green dress floating around her, Finnick wasn’t at all surprised when she curled up on her chair and refused to utter a single word. 

* * *

Finnick’s feet made the now familiar walk to Annie’s house, just a few doors down from him in Victor’s Village. He and Mags had gotten into the habit of going over there at least once a day so Annie wasn’t alone. Her father, whom Annie had lived with for most of her life, had died in a boating accident shortly after Annie returned home. 

They both knew that wasn’t a coincidence. 

Since then, he’d made sure to be there for her. Every new victor needed somebody to count on. Finnick had Mags, and now he was paying it forward. Not a big deal. 

The interaction was especially necessary for Annie, who rarely left her house. As a victor, she could participate in one of the oldest District Four victor traditions: paying reaping-age kids ridiculously high prices to do the simplest of jobs. It was something that Mags had started years ago; they hired children to do jobs like get groceries, then paid them nearly exorbitant amounts of money so they wouldn’t have to take out tesserae. The more kids they could hire, the better, because that meant more kids that they were helping. One kid to collect the groceries, one kid to deliver them, that sort of thing. The Peacekeepers knew what they were doing but never found it worthwhile enough to say anything, so the tradition continued. 

Annie had taken to certain aspects of victor life well. She didn’t have to go to work or school, so she never had to leave her house. On the other hand, she never went anywhere, which couldn’t have been fun. That was why Finnick made such an effort to come over and brighten her day a little. “I’m here,” he called into Annie’s empty foyer, a few months after her victory. 

“Hey,” Annie greeted him with a small smile, walking down the stairs. The way she walked and the clearness of her eyes told Finnick that she’d had one of her rare good nights of sleep, which he was grateful for. “I was thinking we could make muffins today.”

“Muffins?” Finnick asked, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, what kind?”

Annie shrugged, and he followed her into her kitchen. “Blueberry?”

“You hate blueberry,” he said, looking at her incredulously. 

“I never told you that,” she said, tilting her head. 

“Yes, you did,” Finnick argued. “Remember when we were at school, you were maybe eleven years old, and Piper Rivera offered you one at lunch? You said they were gross.”

Annie furrowed her eyebrows a little, probably recalling the memory. Then, she looked at him and said, “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Finnick laughed softly and shrugged. “Well, I remember a lot of things. Why blueberry?”

“It’s your favorite,” she replied, sending him a playful smile. “You’re not the only one who can remember things.”

He felt oddly touched by the fact that she remembered what his favorite kind of muffin was. In the end, though, they didn’t make blueberry muffins. They settled on chocolate chip, and although Finnick had very little experience baking, Annie was an excellent teacher, and it didn’t go very badly at all. 

They waited in Annie’s kitchen for the muffins to bake, and she put on some music to pass the time. They laughed and danced in the kitchen and time sped by as Finnick got caught up in Annie and her smile and the cute way she scrunched her nose when she laughed too hard.

Before they knew it, the oven timer was beeping, and Finnick made a move to pull them out. A panicked gasp stopped him in his tracks, and he turned back around. “Annie?”

Annie stood, stiff as a board, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened. She didn’t seem to have registered that he’d said her name, focused instead on whatever was stressing her out. It must have been the oven timer. Sudden loud noises were a trigger for many victors, although he didn’t have that exact problem himself. 

“Annie,” he tried again, careful not to touch her for fear of upsetting her more. “Can you hear me?”

Just as he thought Annie wasn’t registering his words, she gave him a minuscule nod. She could hear him, she just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to respond. Finnick smiled encouragingly. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assured her. “I’m just going to talk, okay, and you can chime in when you feel up to it.”

Another nod. 

So he talked about whatever was on his mind. The fish stew he saw at the market. The new blanket that Mags had made, and how soft it was. The last time he’d been out on a boat. Eventually, with each word, Annie resurfaced a little more, until she was able to take deep breaths. She spoke up during his story about how a sea turtle once swam off with his hat. “I think you’re making that up,” she breathed, but her lips twitched in a smile. 

He grinned, delighted to see her speaking again. “I’m not! It happened, I swear.” He took a moment to survey her. “Are you feeling better? Do you want to sit down?”

“I’m fine,” Annie said, brushing off his concerns. “Sorry about that, it was just the timer and the noise…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Finnick assured her. “It happens to all of us.”

“Even you?”

“Even me.”

That seemed to reassure Annie a little, the idea that she wasn’t alone. She smiled weakly and sank to the floor, her head resting on the cabinets behind her. “Sometimes,” Annie began, eyes watery, “I feel like it would have been easier if I’d died in the arena.”

Finnick froze for a moment. The words weighed on him like an anchor. He’d felt the same way for a while after he won. Still did, from time to time. “Easier, yes,” he agreed softly. “But that doesn’t mean better.”

Annie took a moment to think about that, before glancing at him. “I think you’re right,” she decided eventually. 

Finnick smiled softly and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “What do you say we try those muffins now?”

Her eyes widened and she let out a groan. “Oh, they’re probably burnt by now. You still want to try them?”

“Of course,” he answered easily, pulling the scorched muffins out of the oven. Annie was right; the tops and sides had been blackened by heat, and the stench of burnt food spilled from the oven.

Still, after waiting for the muffins to cool, he broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth with a satisfied sigh. Coming from anyone else, they would have been disastrous, but since Annie made them, they were worth it.

* * *

Annie’s Victory Tour was draining for everyone involved, but mostly for Annie herself. Going back to the Capitol and rehashing the details of her Games was exactly the kind of experience that Annie didn’t need. The Capitol wasn’t too pleased about it, either. They wanted polished and artificial. Annie was messy and genuine. 

Really, the Capitol wanted to forget about Annie just as much as Annie wanted to forget about them. 

Annie pulled through, though. She stood up on each district’s stage and read from her pre-prepared cards, then went to all the dinners afterwards. It was a lackluster performance, the exact kind that the Capitol would be eager to forget, and Finnick was glad for that. 

The Capitol’s lack of interest guaranteed her safety.

Finnick and Annie were both incredibly relieved to be back in Four after the Tour. He could tell that Annie didn’t like the cameras or the constant attention. He could say the same for himself, although that didn’t matter when it came to how much the Capitol liked him. 

It was about a month or two after her Tour that Annie came to him with a suggestion. “I want to go swimming.”

They were sitting on her front porch, letting the warm sun beam down on them. In the cooler months, they could sit outside for hours on end, feeling refreshed by the cool breeze. He got sunburnt, sometimes, but enjoying Annie’s company for so long pushed those trivial concerns from his mind. 

“What?” he asked, surprised at her suggestion. Annie had barely gone near the ocean since her Games. It reminded her too much of the flood that had devoured her arena and almost swallowed her whole. “Today?”

“Yes,” Annie declared, looking at him expectantly, daring him to say she couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t say that, of course. Annie could do anything because she was strong like that. 

“Okay,” Finnick replied, standing up. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Wordlessly, he held out his hand for her to take. She slipped her hand into his, fingers curling around each other’s, and they began the short walk to the beach. Annie’s nervous frown deepened with every step, but she never once made the move to turn around or go back, only tightened her grip on Finnick’s hand. 

They reached the ocean minutes later, greeted by the empty stretch of sand and water that made up the private victors’ beach, just adjacent to the Village. 

“We’ll take it slow,” he said softly, as they waded into the water, which lapped gently at their ankles, then their knees. The water, warmed by the sun, was cool but not chilling, like it was in the arena. 

“It’s not cold,” Annie murmured, echoing his thoughts. She still looked rigid, jaw clenched, but the tension melted from her shoulders a little. “It’s not cold.”

“It’s not,” he agreed, gaze focused out on the horizon line, where he could see the speck of a boat in the distance. “You’re safe here.”

It was impossible to tell how long the two of them stood there, water up to their knees, just soaking up the sun. Gradually, Annie’s anxiety lessened until it nearly faded away entirely. At some point, she must have let go of his hand, because he couldn’t feel the warmth in his palm anymore.

“Thank you for being here,” Annie spoke up, breaking the silence. “For all of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he answered, sending her a brief smile. “That’s just...what we do for each other.”

“Yeah,” Annie agreed, as if just now considering the possibility. A smile pulled at her lips. “I guess it is.”

As much as he wanted to, neither him nor Annie could stand in the water forever. They eventually retreated back to the shoreline, where they laid on the sand and stared up at the clouds in the sky. Beside him, he could hear Annie breathing deeply, like she was savoring every breath of the salty air. In times like these, Finnick was glad to be a victor. He didn’t have to work or go to school. He could just lay on the beach with Annie by his side, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. 

“Finnick?” Annie asked softly, still staring up at the sky, eyes squinting at the bright light. 

“Annie?” he asked in return, propping himself up on his elbows to see her better. 

“I think we’ll be okay.” At first, Finnick didn’t quite understand what she was referring to; her words were so vague. She turned her head to face him and spoke up again. “Because we’re not alone.”

Something bloomed in his chest at her words, warm and hopeful. It had been a long time since he’d felt hope like that. He didn’t understand how Annie could survive the arena and the Capitol and still go on to say something like that, but she did. She was. 

As if pulled by an external force, their hands found each other’s again, fitting so naturally together it was like they were born to do nothing but hold hands. There was something there, he could feel it. It scared him, the idea of becoming so attached to a person. That was just more leverage for Snow to use against him, which he couldn’t afford. Not to mention the danger he would be putting Annie in. 

But he glanced over at Annie, at the way her eyes lit up, at the tranquil smile on her face, and he knew what he felt for her. There was no use in doubting it, and he found that he didn’t really want to. 

After all, surviving was easy. It was instinctive. The body’s mechanisms would kick in and do it for you. Making a fulfilling life out of that second chance, though? That was the difficult part. 

Although nothing really seemed quite so difficult when Annie was by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've written this story like 50 times, so if you're still reading my work, thank you! <3


End file.
